


so close, yet barely breathing

by thespacenico



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Archer Lance (Voltron), First Kiss, Flashbacks, Getting Together, I almost lost you, Keith's Scar Origin, Knight Lance (Voltron), M/M, Prince Keith (Voltron), blood mention, war's end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22294408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thespacenico/pseuds/thespacenico
Summary: “You could stay here,” Lance pressed, a note of urgent desperation bleeding through as he looked up only to find Keith already staring back at him. “Where it’s safe, where there’s no one to come for your throat. You already have a target painted across your back simply because of your status as a royal, the front lines are much too dangerous.”Keith smiled sadly, gaze softening as he lifted his other hand to touch Lance’s elbow. “Someone has to lead them,” he pointed out gently. “Besides, I can take care of myself.”Lance sighed in resignation, gaze falling back to the floor. If there was one thing everyone knew about the prince, it was that once he’d made up his mind, there was no changing it. No matter how much one wished they could.“That doesn’t make it any easier,” he murmured.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 64
Kudos: 467





	so close, yet barely breathing

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is a commission for @shannterelle on twitter! title taken from the song "brightly" by sleeping at last :')

Lance loves the rain.

He always has, ever since he can remember. There’s just something about it—the ability it has to be light and gentle to harsh and unrelenting or anything in between. It can bring warmth or chill, lighting and thunder, calm breezes or buffeting winds. Sometimes it comes in a quiet summer storm, other times in violent torrents, and each time is distinctly different. It’s the unpredictability of it all, really. There’s so much beauty in that, Lance thinks.

It’s an unstoppable force of nature.

Which is unfortunate actually, because right now, Lance  _ really  _ wishes it would fucking stop.

The battle had been brutal, nothing short of a massacre. As much as Lance has always enjoyed his training as a knight, not once has he ever felt any sort of excitement at the prospect of war, and this one is no different. Each battle thus far has been ruthless and bloody, each one more fierce than the last, and today… well, they all knew the risks. 

From the moment that Altea’s royal army set foot on the battlefield, there was no guarantee that they’d make it out on the other side. But to secure a victory today would mean a turning point in the war itself, meant sparking a newfound hope within the kingdom, and that alone was reason enough to engage.

And they did win. The battlefield is cold, and dark, and muddy, and littered with abandoned weapons and unmoving bodies, but they  _ won. _

Lance just hopes it was worth it.

The majority of those who survived the battle have already retreated back to their makeshift camp, carrying with them as many injured comrades as they could fit on their horses to receive immediate medical attention. Lance would offer his own steed in a heartbeat if he weren’t still looking for someone himself. It’s hard enough forcing himself to check the faces of those being taken back to camp, just in case the person he’s looking for has already been found. Even harder to check the faces of those who have fallen, lying motionless in the mud as they wait for someone to come back and bring them home. Lance avoids looking at them altogether.

He doesn’t look, because he’s too afraid of who he might see.

“Prince?” He pulls on the reins of his horse to slow down, gripping them tightly to keep his balance when she whinnies, rearing up on her back two hooves. “Whoa, Blue, whoa.” He leans forward to pat her side as she falls back on all fours, snorting and shaking her head. “You’re okay, girl.” 

He tears his helmet off his head and drops it to the ground beside them, hair sticking to his forehead as he wipes the rain out of his eyes. His gaze sweeps quickly across the battlefield in search of any sign of movement, heart pounding desperately in his chest. The Galra Kingdom’s symbol flashes up at him from all directions, emblazoned into the armor of a large number of fallen knights around him. At the very least, it means he’s getting closer to where he needs to be, toward the area where the front lines of each army clashed—where the prince himself had led the charge, stripped of his usual royal attire and dressed in his own armor, sword raised as he fearlessly drove them into the enemy lines.

Lance would know. He was there, charging into battle right behind him alongside the other longbow archers, flanking the infantry and firing their arrows deep into enemy territory. But keeping formation once the footsoldiers have engaged is practically impossible, and it’s difficult to maneuver through the fighting masses on a horse without trampling over their own. 

That is to say, Lance lost sight of Keith early on, forced to remain on the outside and secure the perimeter or risk losing the distance he needs for his bow to be effective. It’s the part of these battles he dreads most, watching Keith disappear into the front lines while being powerless to help him, should anything go wrong.

It’s no secret that casualties are most frequent among the front lines. Make it through one battle, and it’s unlikely you’ll make it through the next. 

Lance urges Blue onward, wind blowing harshly and rain slapping mercilessly against his face. “Your Highness!” he calls hoarsely, wondering if there’s anyone there to even hear his voice.

Nothing.

_ “Why do you insist on calling me that?” Keith had asked earlier. _

_ They were preparing for battle in his private chamber, hidden away deep within the castle where he couldn’t be disturbed. Immediately after his customary gathering with the knights, Lance had been called to assist the prince with the dressing of his armor and readying of his weapons, upon his request. Everyone knows that Keith is plenty capable of doing these things himself, and often chooses to do so. Neither of them chose to mention this fact. _

_ Lance’s gaze briefly flicked up from where he’d been fastening one of Keith’s gauntlets around his wrist, then down again. The question was practically rhetorical—Keith knew very well why, even if Lance hasn’t openly admitted it yet. He considered his next words carefully, then cleared his throat.  _

_ “I’m meant to respect your title, as your appointed knight,” is what he eventually settled on, speaking shortly. Anything more would have revealed too much, more than he was ready for. He finished adjusting the straps and immediately moved on to the next, lifting Keith’s other arm and sliding the second gauntlet into place. _

_ Keith remained quiet for a moment, watching as Lance continued to work. Lance’s skin burned where his gaze lingered, eyes never leaving his face as if he was searching for another meaning to Lance’s words. Maybe he found it, maybe he didn’t. Lance wasn’t trying particularly hard to hide it.  _

_ “You know that’s not all I consider you to be,” Keith answered finally, softly. Lance said nothing, jaw clenching and chest tightening, stubbornly keeping his eyes lowered as his fingers pulled at the straps.  _

_ A prince isn’t all that Lance considered Keith to be either, but he couldn’t say that. Not now. Not yet. _

_ Instead he moved on to Keith’s chestplate and stepped closer to fix it over his shoulders, ignoring the marked quickening pace of his heart at the proximity. But before he had the chance to do much else, Keith reached out to plant a hand against his chest, forcing him to meet his gaze. He scanned Lance’s face for a long moment, mouth curving down into a displeased frown, brow creased as Lance tried not to squirm from the attention. _

_ “You’re upset with me.” _

_ Lance let out a disbelieving huff, shaking his head. “No, Prince, I’m not—” _

_ “What else am I to think? You’ll hardly even look at me.”  _

_ “Well, it’s rather difficult to fasten armor correctly without looking at where—” _

_ “I can hold out just fine on my own.”  _

_ “Oh, believe me, I know. It’s just that—” Lance cut himself off, realizing too late that Keith had subtly shifted the conversation in another direction without him noticing, the way he did when he knew exactly what Lance was thinking but didn’t have the courage to say. His shoulders hiked up to his ears at the slight raise of Keith’s brows, averting his gaze as Keith stepped closer yet. _

_ “Just what, Lance?” he asked quietly, fingers splayed over his heart. Lance believed it was very much intentional.  _

_ He swallowed, exhaling a small breath and reaching up to place his hand tentatively over Keith’s fingers curling underneath his palm. “I just… I wish you didn’t have to fight,” he admitted, voice hardly more than a whisper. _

_ “I  _ don’t  _ have to,” Keith countered, but there was no bite behind it. “That’s the point. What kind of prince would I be if I didn’t choose to fight alongside my own kingdom?” _

_“You could stay here,” Lance pressed, a note of urgent desperation bleeding through as he looked up only to find Keith already staring back at him. “Where it’s safe, where there’s no one to come for your throat._ _You already have a target painted across your back simply because of your status as a royal, the front lines are much too dangerous.”_

_ Keith smiled sadly, gaze softening as he lifted his other hand to touch Lance’s elbow. “Someone has to lead them,” he pointed out gently. “Besides, I can take care of myself.” _

_ Lance sighed in resignation, gaze falling back to the floor. If there was one thing everyone knew about the prince, it was that once he’d made up his mind, there was no changing it. No matter how much one wished they could.  _

_ “That doesn’t make it any easier,” he murmured. _

The rain is picking up again. Blue slows more and more each second, struggling to find her footing in the mud and neighing when she starts to sink into it. Lance gathers the reins in his hand and quickly pulls her to a stop, swinging his leg over her side and sliding to the ground. He grimaces as mud splatters all over his armor, but he trudges forward and reaches out to stroke Blue’s nose comfortingly despite his own steadily rising panic. “Looks like you’ll have to stay here, girl.”

The sound of mud and water squelching behind him catches his attention and he whips around, trying but failing to shove down the instant spark of hope igniting in his chest. A group of knights are making their way toward him, one with his arms slung heavily around the others’ shoulders. Lance pauses only long enough to ensure that Keith isn’t among them before taking action, letting the spark selfishly flicker and fizzle out. 

“Over here!” he calls, waving one arm in the air so as to be seen. The knights spot him immediately, rerouting to move straight toward him. “Take my horse,” Lance orders the moment that they reach him, passing Blue’s reins over to the closest one to him and taking his place, slinging the injured knight’s arm over his shoulder. “Head back to camp, find him a healer and take care of yourselves.” 

“What about you?” the third knight asks, even as the first climbs onto Blue’s back and helps them pull their companion up behind him.

“I’ll be fine,” Lance says dismissively, patting Blue’s side one more time and stepping away. “Just go.” 

The knight nods, climbing onto Blue behind the others and offering a brief wave of thanks. He knows better than to argue. “Good luck.” 

Lance nearly laughs at the irony of his statement, watching as they turn and ride away in the direction of camp. As much as he hates to admit it, he’s really gonna need it. He spins around on his heels and takes off. Every inch of him is soaked by now and he can hardly see three feet in front of him, kicking up mud with every step as he stumbles forward, blinking rapidly in an effort to get rid of the water obscuring his vision. 

He knew from the beginning that allowing Keith to fight at the forefront of the battle itself was a bad idea. Maybe if he had tried harder, maybe if he were a better knight, he would have been able to convince Keith to stay behind, maybe they would already be back and safe in the castle,  _ together,  _ maybe Lance wouldn’t be staggering blindly across the battlefield fearing that the worst has finally happened. He might be crying now, suddenly. It’s hard to tell with all the rain.

The aftermath of the battle extends as far as the eye can see. From the steadily increasing number of fallen enemies, Lance realizes that their forces must have been able to drive the Galra back a fair amount—a good sign that one person in particular had been here. 

“Keith!” Lance screams, chest having, lungs aching with the effort it’s taken to run this far in his armor. He begins to call Keith’s name again, over and over until his throat is raw, all previous “respect for his title” be damned. Lance has never cared about Keith’s title. He only cares about Keith. 

His ankle catches on an exposed root in the ground and he falls,  _ hard.  _ He grunts as his body hits the ground, for once grateful for the mud and the minimal cushion that it provides, even if he gets a mouthful of it. The rain refuses to let up; if anything, it seems to worsen, as if it’s threatening Lance to stay down. It’s an empty threat. 

For a moment he lays still, catching his breath. He’s shivering now, the cold of the rain seeping into his skin and clinging to his bones. His whole body aches, limbs sore and energy spent, but he can’t go back. Not yet. Not until he’s found what he’s looking for. Grimacing, he pushes himself up onto his elbows, choking on his own inhale as he lifts his head to survey the area the best he can.

Something immediately catches his eye. Something small and metallic, bright and glinting in the rain and a stark contrast against the dark of the mud it’s buried in. He squints, wiping his wet bangs out of his face to get a better look, and then his eyes widen. Panic shoots through his veins like the bolt of lightning that flashes across the sky, illuminating the battlefield and the silver medallion wedged in the mud several feet away.

He scrambles to his feet and rushes forward, falling back to his knees the moment he reaches it. His hands shake as he reaches down to pull it free, nearly dropping it again before managing to find a solid grip and scraping the surface clean with his fingers, heart sinking into the pit of his stomach. In his palm lies a small medallion with a blood red gemstone embedded in its center, surrounded by intricate carvings symbolic of the royal throne. The chain on which it’s been fastened has snapped, two thin pieces of chain dangling over his fingers. 

Lance can’t help it. He lifts a hand to his mouth to stifle a horrified sob, eyes stinging with tears. “No,” he whispers.

_ “Here. I want you to have this.”  _

_ They were at the front gates of the castle now, the farthest that Lance could accompany Keith before they both mounted their steeds and took their positions to move out. A storm was coming—it could be clearly seen on the horizon, lightning flashing ominously through the darkened clouds. With any luck, the storm would have passed by the time they traveled all the way out to the battlefield, but Lance didn’t have very high hopes.  _

_ Speaking of luck. _

_ Keith turned toward Lance at the sound of his voice and lowered his head slightly with Lance’s prompting, even as his brow furrowed in confusion. Lance carefully placed something around his neck, hands hovering near his shoulders before falling away again, and Keith considered him for a moment before glancing down at what he’d been given. His head snapped back up just as quickly, eyes wide. _

_ “Lance—” _

_ Lance shook his head, having fully prepared himself for Keith’s protest beforehand. “Please, Your Highness, I want you to—”  _

_ “No,” Keith said firmly, already struggling to pull it off. “You earned this yourself, it’s a symbol of  _ your  _ loyalty to the throne, and I have no right to—”  _

_ “To you, and as the prince, I imagine you have the right to do whatever you want.”  _

_ Keith froze then, expression going blank. “What?” _

_ Lance frowned. “I said, I imagine you have—” _

_ “Before that,” Keith interrupted, stepping toward Lance until they were only an inch apart, hand still clasped around the medallion Lance hung around his neck. “What about me?” _

_ Lance faltered, resisting the urge to draw back a step, afraid of what he might do if he didn’t. He didn’t quite mean to let that part slip out, regardless of how apparent it was to anyone who knew them. Keith’s gaze kept him rooted in place, set upon him with such a fierce intensity that he didn’t dare lie. He swallowed, tearing his eyes away from Keith’s and lowering them to the ground. “I want you to have it,” he repeated quietly, voice hoarse, “as a symbol of my loyalty to you.”  _

_ For an agonizing moment, Keith said nothing, eyes fluttering as a gust of wind blew across the clearing, hair falling into his face. There was a shift in the atmosphere within seconds, an electric charge in the air that made the hairs on the back of Lance’s neck rise, the way they do just before lightning strikes. They both knew this was an important battle, how violent it was expected to be, the fact that for some it was going to be a one-way trip. At length, Keith extended a hand to touch Lance’s wrist, gentle, opening his mouth to speak and hesitating. _

_ “Lance,” he murmured finally, sounding breathless. “There’s something I should—”  _

_ “Just—” Lance shook his head again, agitated. “Please, just keep it.” _

_ “No, listen to me, I—” _

_ “You can return it to me after all of this is over, after—” _

_ “But Lance, there’s something I want to—” _

“Don’t.”  _ Keith’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click at the commanding tone of Lance’s voice, shoulders stiffening as Lance’s hands abruptly come up to grip his arms. Lance took a deep breath to collect himself, exhaling shakily. “Just… stop. Whatever you want to say, you can say to me once all of this is over. Because we  _ will  _ see each other again, do you understand?”  _

_ Keith blinked at him, eyes wide, completely unmoving as they stared at each other. The silence stretched on for several moments, long enough that it grew nearly unbearable, long enough for Lance to reflect on how much he hated this war and these battles, and everything they brought with them. His heart beat rapidly against his ribcage as he waited for Keith’s answer, using all of his strength not to break eye contact.  _

_ At last, Keith nodded slowly, fingers curling tightly around the medallion against his chest.  _

_ “I understand,” he whispered.  _

How very wrong Lance was. 

It’s unwise of him to jump to the conclusion that he does with such little evidence, without even bothering to check the faces of those who lay lifelessly around him. Keith is the best swordsman in the kingdom, respected by their allies and feared by their enemies. Villagers used to swarm the training grounds just to see him fight before he fully stepped into his role as prince and his sessions were declared private. He’s never been disarmed in battle, never taken a hit he couldn’t come back from.

But if someone got close enough to tear this medallion off his neck, whether by hand or by blade...

For the first and only time today, Lance is grateful for the rain. It’s loud enough to drown out the sob that falls from his lips before he can stop it, heavy enough to disguise the tears that fill his eyes and slide down his face without permission. He can’t give up yet, he should be moving, he needs to get up but suddenly he can’t  _ breathe,  _ he can’t move and it’s all he can do to clutch the medallion to his chest and try not to fall apart completely. His chest heaves for air, shoulders trembling as he chokes back one sob after the other. One hand scrabbles desperately for something to steady himself, fingers digging into the muddy ground as he leans against it. 

“No,” he says, or tries to. He hardly gets the word out before gasping for breath, squeezing his eyes shut against the rain, only aware of his own tears when they streak hotly down his cheeks. “Please, please no—” His entire being aches, limbs heavy and heart broken. 

He can’t be gone. He can’t he can’t he  _ can’t,  _ not when they both still had so much to say, not when the end of this war is finally in sight, not when they were in the process of gathering the courage to stop dancing around each other and—

“Lance?”

Lance’s breath catches in his throat, and he immediately falls silent. A voice. It was faint, barely audible through the noise of the rainfall, but it was definitely there. He opens his eyes, blinking away the water that clings to his lashes and slowly lifting his head to locate the source of it. His gaze lands on a figure standing several yards away from where he sits on his knees, and the moment that he recognizes who it is, his heart stops in his chest.

The prince himself stares back at him, wet hair plastered across his forehead, eyes wide and jaw slack, almost every inch of his armor scraped and dented. His entire frontside is smeared with mud and grime, the tip of the sword in his hand tinted a sickening shade of red. Even from here Lance can see the ugly slash that mars his cheek now, dried blood trickling underneath his chin and down his neck before disappearing underneath the collar of his armor. It makes Lance’s chest constrict painfully at the thought of someone hurting him, but he’s certain he doesn’t look much better, bruised and battered and beaten.

Keith looks like he’s been dragged through hell and back, and he’s more beautiful than Lance has ever seen.

He’s on his feet so quickly, it’s a wonder he doesn’t keel over and pass out from the abrupt change in orientation. “Keith,” he breathes, sounding as if the word is being punched out of him.

Keith drops his sword into the mud and takes a single, staggering step forward, face breaking out into a wide, lopsided smile of relief, and Lance rushes forward to meet him. 

They crash together in a tangle of limbs, armor scraping and knees knocking, arms wrapped tightly around each other’s waists and shoulders. A breathless laugh bubbles out of Lance’s mouth that morphs into a strangled sort of sob, eyes squeezing shut as he buries his face in Keith’s hair.

“Oh my god,” he chokes. “Oh my god,  _ Keith,  _ I thought you were gone, I was so afraid something happened to you—” 

“I’m okay,” Keith interrupts, and the sound of his voice alone is enough to send a shiver down Lance’s spine, his relief so palpable he could practically drown in it. “I’m okay, I’m sorry, I had to come back for your medallion—you were supposed to wait for me back at the castle.” 

Lance shakes his head, fingers cupping the back of Keith’s neck and pressing him closer. “I couldn’t wait, I had to know that you were okay.” 

“I know.” Keith presses his forehead against Lance’s temple, breath soft against his cheek. “I’m here, I’m okay.” 

“You should’ve just left the medallion here and come right back,” Lance sighs, fighting back the heat that refuses to stop building behind his eyes. “It’s not that important.” 

“I love you.” 

“I lost sight of you at the start of the battle and it scared me, I was so terrified that I was never going to see you again—” He freezes, his brain registering belatedly exactly what Keith had just said. His eyes snap open, brow furrowing in confusion, mind going completely blank. He shifts and slowly pulls back to look at Keith properly as if that will give him some sort of clarity, one hand resting on his waist, the other still holding Keith’s nape. “You… what?”

Keith is smiling at him, the crinkling of his eyes and the curve of his mouth unbearably fond as he lifts a hand to touch Lance’s cheek, gentle. Lance stares at him, left utterly speechless, eyes fluttering when Keith brushes a thumb over his cheekbone. “I couldn’t wait either,” he says softly.

Lance is still having trouble processing, struggling to make sense of it all, eyes wide and mouth gaping. The rain has finally lessened however slightly, drops of it collecting on Keith’s crown and sliding down to his bloody cheek, down to his chin. It’s becoming increasingly more difficult not to lean in and kiss them away. “You—Your Highness, I—”

“Stop calling me that,” Keith mutters, then takes Lance’s face between his hands and kisses him.

All of the training over Lance’s entire career as a knight never would have prepared him for what kissing Keith would be like. It’s like the flame of a match, sparking and swallowing it whole before there’s time to light anything else. It’s like spending your whole life climbing a mountain and finally reaching its peak, finally reaching the untouchable light at the end of the tunnel. 

It’s like a moment of quiet found in the midst of absolute chaos, one that grounds you, reminds you of your purpose and why it will all be worth it in the end.

Keith kisses like he does everything else: gently, but with so much concentrated intensity and passion that it makes Lance weak in the knees, clutching at Keith’s waist to keep himself upright. He’s spent so long suppressing these feelings, holding himself back, never allowing himself to express just what Keith means to him. Now he’s bursting with it, unable to hide it any longer, dismissing every doubt, every concern he’s ever had about this— _ thing _ they have that’s ever held him back. He buries his fingers in Keith’s hair and drags him as close as possible, kisses him back just as fiercely, sighing into his mouth with each tilt of their jaws and brush of their noses. 

At some point it becomes almost too much, and Lance is forced to break apart if only to catch his breath, panting. His eyes remain closed, too overwhelmed by the thought of what he would see if he opened them, and his heart leaps into his throat as Keith presses their foreheads together. 

“Lance,” he murmurs, as if he knows exactly what he’s thinking, just like he always does.

“I love you too,” Lance rasps, unable to speak any louder and hoping desperately that he can be heard over the rain falling all around them. “All I’ve ever wanted is to love you.” 

Keith’s voice is smiling, thumb swiping lightly over Lance’s lower lip. “Nothing’s stopping you,” he whispers. 

So Lance kisses him again.

The war is far from over—they both know that. But they’ve reached the top of the hill and now they’re catapulting down the other side with no way of stopping, well on their way to victory. Fear isn’t strong enough to hold them back anymore, not when together they feel so  _ brave _ . They latch onto that feeling, hold it tight and refuse to let it go, refuse to let anything else stand in their way. 

And this is the beginning of their happy ending.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](https://www.thespacenico.tumblr.com)!  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/thespacenico/)!  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/thespacenico)!  
> 


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